


Eileen

by MrsWhozeewhatsis (OxfordCommaLover)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 03:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18174971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OxfordCommaLover/pseuds/MrsWhozeewhatsis
Summary: Meeting Eileen gets Sam out of his own head and makes him more aware of the world around him.





	Eileen

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Louden Swain Amazing Angela FanFic FanArt Project and is based on the song, Angela. Special thanks to @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish and @littlegreenplasticsoldier for helping me make this great! Although I don’t think it exactly parallels the song, I think it falls into the same general feeling. At least, I hope so.

_(Art by[@impala-dreamer](https://tmblr.co/mFrBoRBdfsQa6xO8uHcKXsQ))_

* * *

Sam bolted upright in his bed, Lucifer’s voice echoing in his mind. Giving up on sleep, even though he’d only crashed a couple of hours earlier, he threw on his running gear and headed out into the cold Kansas night. The Devil’s words bounced through his head along with every step he took. The chill of the air was eerily similar to the cold that pervaded Lucifer’s presence and did nothing to cool the heat of the adrenaline his memories kept producing. During the rare moments that he managed to shift his thoughts, they only went as far as the Darkness. Amara. Yet another global-level evil he’d unleashed. The beauty of the sunrise barely registered with him as he turned away from it and through the bunker’s door, heading towards the showers.

When Dean brought Sam the case in the retirement home, Sam resisted. Didn’t they have better things to be worried about? Didn’t they have _bigger_ things to worry about? He relented, in the end, because Dean was annoying. Certainly not because Dean was right and there was nothing to be done about Amara.

Sam went through the motions of investigating the case, ignoring the itch under his skin that urged him to be in the bunker researching Amara. Not even the payload of Viagra he found in the victim’s belongings struck his interest. It was all just so… usual. Routine. Most of the people he interviewed knew nothing that would help them. EMF was everywhere, but it was a retirement home. People died all the time. Digging up the grave of the suspected ghost was just same shit, different day. Anybody could have handled this case. It didn’t need to be him.

The next morning, when news of another body took them back to Oak Park, it was Lucifer’s voice in his head telling him he should be more worried about the end of the world. Sam tried to shake it, but it was persistent, droning on about the inherent boredom of working just a regular case. That voice stopped cold when the deaf maid had him trapped up against some machinery in the laundry room while she advanced on him with a large knife, ready to strike.

Her name was Eileen, and she was a hunter, _and_ a Men of Letters legacy. She hunted… _alone_ … while missing one of her senses! Sam couldn’t imagine how she had stayed alive without being able to hear monsters coming! He was fascinated. He enjoyed talking with her and hoped that maybe they wouldn’t lose touch after the case was over. It had been a while since he’d managed to keep in touch with another hunter besides Jody, and that was really just because Jody insisted on calling him every so often to check on him. If it was left up to him, he’d have lost touch long ago.

Who was he kidding? Eileen would fall to the wayside, just like everyone else.

He offered her the usual, “Feel free to drop a line if you ever need anything, or even just want to hang out,” fully expecting just a smile and a nod and a goodbye.

Eileen smiled. Eileen nodded. Eileen said, “You can’t call me, though.”

Sam startled and looked back up and into her eyes before he saw the sparkle and got the joke. “Okay,” he said, smiling and nodding in return, his cheeks warming for the first time in a long time.

“I mean, you could call, but I won’t answer,” she joked, smiling with a brightness that sent warmth through more than just Sam’s cheeks. The chill he’d harbored since being in that freezing cold imitation cage in Hell finally fell away and he nearly sighed in relief. He had to forcefully tear himself away from her to get into the Impala and ride away, fearing he’d lose that blessed comfort. But even as he chatted with Dean later that night, he was still warm. As he headed to bed, his phone chimed with a message.

_Eileen: I know I said I wouldn’t answer if you called, but you can text me anytime._

And she meant it. Sam would text her at all hours when he was researching or couldn’t sleep or was bored during a drive, and she always answered. When he needed a break from thinking about monsters, she talked to him about living abroad and taught him sign language. When a hunt had his mind racing, she calmed him. When he was up, she celebrated it, and when he was down, she somehow healed it. When his world seemed overwhelming and frightening, she helped him break everything down into smaller pieces that were easier to tackle. When he got too wrapped up in the big picture, she reminded him of the little details that made the big picture so beautiful. Whenever he got off track, she set him right.

He was just about to ask her to make the bunker her home when she was gone. The fantasy he’d lived in for the year he’d known her dissipated as he looked at her mangled body. The cozy comfort she’d brought him slipped away and he once again felt cold in his bones. So, he froze as he stood there, not wanting Dean to know, not wanting Dean to worry about him when there were so many other worries that were more important. Covering her face with the sheet allowed him to take air into his lungs again, though the weight of grief still squeezed at his chest. For a while, he’d forgotten that he wasn’t free to just love someone. Now, he was awake, again, and ashamed he’d ever let himself dream.

 


End file.
